Mad Max and Motherly Ake (edited)
by Jo of Art
Summary: New summary: In trouble with a motorbike gang, Max stumbles across a young woman who accepts him as a welcome friend but he may have to betray her if he wants to survive. Set after Mad Max Fury Road.
1. Chapter 1

(Edit: thank you for reviews! This is my first time posting a fanfiction so it's very helpful. I've changed up the format a bit: I hope this helps make it easier to read.)

...

The relentless heat of the sun beat down hard on the desolate wilderness of what used to be known as the Australian outback before the apocolypse killed the world. Everything was dry and monotone-colored, the slightest gust stirring up the parched earth, filling the entire sky with hazy brown. Outcrops of rocks and mountains littered the flat land. It was among one of these tall piles of boulders that something rare existed; a young woman, alone and free, keeping herself well hidden there.

In a shady crevice, she sat before a grooved stone and was grinding up small dried herbs. All was quiet except for the sound of the grinding stone. The woman was in a bit of a trance from focusing on the repetitive sounds of her breathing and the crushing herb leaves. This must be why she didn't hear anything approaching her from behind. Normally the young woman was always on high-alert, listening intently for sounds even when there is complete silence for miles around; but she let herslf slip, having not encountered anyone in a very long time.

She paused when she heard an unfamiliar sound, like something softly whipping the air. A second later, a fine wire and rope net gently fell over her. She gasped and tried to lift it off of her while she rose up to run, but standing just made it easier for the caster of the net to pull a rope tight and cinch the net closed around her legs. The woman panicked, instantly understanding her predicament and having no one to blame but herself. She was always so cautious to the point of extreme paranioa, terrrifed of ever running into other people. Why, she thought, how could I not have heard the slightest sound of someone drawing near? She tried desperatly to kick her legs to open the net up but the rope remained tight. She tried to rip the net open but though it was made of fine materials it was strong and the wires slightly cut into her hands. She tried nawing on the ropes but froze up with fear when her captor stood over her.

It was a burly, bearded man in a leather coat, a scarf wrapped around his head to protect him from the sun; but just the same he was well cooked from being in the open wasteland, his sweating face burnt and his lips chapped. The woman could smell the dust and heat coming off his leather coat and boats. Before she could get a better look at his face, the man knelt down and she tried once more to somehow squirm away. But he took hold of her legs and pushed them into the net so that he could cinch the net fully closed around her. His relexes were fast and decisive, but when not performing an action, his movements were cautious. The woman was very skilled at reading people, probably why she was so afraid of people, because she could easily see their inner thoughts and intentions.

The man slowly reached for her face; as much as she wanted to get away and not be touched, she knew it was hopeless and remained frozen in fear. With her still in the net, he carefully placed his worn calloused hand behind her head, tangling his fingers into her abundance of brown curly locks, and slowly pulled her forward. Now she had a good look at him; his eyes were deeper than anyone else's that she had ever seen, telling stories of pain, hardships, and battles. Scars cut through the scruff of his unshaven jaw. His nose showed signs of having been broken before. His lips must have at one time been full and well-shaped but right now were cracked and bleeding. There was no doubt in the woman's mind that he was a warrior. But the look he was giving her confused her; she could not read it. He looked deeply into her eyes, appearing to be as confused as she felt. He kept looking harder, slowly turning her face from side to side as if he had no idea what to make of her. He shifted and reached a finger from his other hand and lightly stroked her cheek once, all the while glaring intensely at her, his brow furreled. The woman feared abuse more than death, feared what this man of violence would most obviously want to do to her, but as he touched her, there was not even a flicker of malvolence or lust. He simply seemed perplexed and haunted.

He seemed to give up on whatever he was trying to figure out and searched her; the woman felt incredibly stupid for forgetting that she in fact had weapons on her. She wanted to kick herself for freezing up, unable to defend herself. The man opened the net enough to put a hand through and remove the large blade she had sheathed at her hip. Being midday and hot, she wore a loose skirt wrap with a long slit to allow unhindered movement, and a short sleeveless top and no footwear; this left her feeling completely exposed to this man as he diligently searched the rest of her with his rough hands. He was thorough, but much to the woman's surprise, he did not handle her more intimate parts for a moment longer than he needed to. He pulled a potentially threatening carved-bone stick from her hair and a small switch-blade from between her breasts.

Satisfied she was unarmed, the man stood and quickly retreived a bag of his belongs from nearby (the woman wondered how he set that large bag down earlier without her hearing it, just the same as she wondered how a well-built man had footfalls lighter than a feather, not so much as scuffing his boots against the rocks. He was experienced in being unseen and unheard. He set the bag down and ramaged around in it until he found a leather case and set that down before the woman. He opened it, revealing surgical instruments. The woman's heart leapt to her throat, her imagination flooding her head with a series of horrible thoughts. He gingerly took off his jacket, seeming to be in pain, and then carefully pulled his shirt off, putting these aside. He reached for the woman, but now she didn't care how hopeless escape might be, she tried to crawl and roll away but he still had a hold of the net. He wound the rope around his wrist and grabbed her by her shoulders, sitting her up. He then opened the net and pulled it down until her upper half was out of the net, and then cinched it tight again, rope and wire rubbing uncomfortably on her bare waist.

By this time, the woman was starting to hyperventilate from panick, but the man brought the surgical case close and placed a bloodied scalpel in her shaking hands. She was completely confused and looked from the scalpel to him; he gave her that intense stare again, a flicker of something passed through his eyes and he slightly shook his head as if to clear it away. Madness from being in the sun, she thought. He grunted to ensure he had her full attention and held her hand still. His voice was rough from disuse but he finally spoke to her,

"Get these things out of my back, give me water, and I will leave. Not gonna hurt ya." With that he turned around, sitting with his back her, holding the rope of the net tight. She couldn't believe that this well-seasoned lone warrior would turn his back to her while she held a blade. She thought of using it to slit an artery in his throat but he was watching her unblinkingly with his perifial vision. Then she thought of cutting the rope discreetly but since he held it tight he would immediately notice. Out of ideas, she payed attention to his back. Amongst line after line of upside words tatooed on his back were hooking-darts embedded deep in his flesh. No wonder he was desperate to get them out; she had seen hooking-darts before, long ago, so she knew that these darts are designed to work themselves deeper into flesh over time and impossible to simply pull out. Usually these darts were fired at victims with wires attached to the gun so that the target could be apprehended without being killed. She could see where the man had tried on his own to cut one out but it remained lodged in place. Curiousity getting the better of her, she cocked her head so she could better read the tatoos. At the base of his neck was a sinister looking branding; below that, upside down, the tatoos read as:

Day 12045 - ht 10 hands - 180 pounds - No Name No lumps No bumps Full Life clear - Two good eyes No busted limbs - Piss OK Genitals intact - Multiple scars Heals fast - O-PLUS HIGH OCTANE UNIVERSAL DONOR - Lone Road Warrior Rundown - on the Powder Lakes V8 - No guzzoline No supplies - PSYCHOTIC - Keep Muzzled

He watched her over his shoulder as she examined his back, her expression, though fearful, appeared puzzled. Truth was he wasn't sure what was tatooed on his back. It's not like his captors told him or he had access to a mirror after escaping. She glanced up at him with renewed fear. He simply grunted and told her "Wasting daylight." Not that it mattered. She decided that the best option right now was to do as he says and wait for an opportunity to escape; not for a moment did she believe him that he would actually release her and simply leave her be. No one would do that. Not with a defenseless, young, healthy female. She slowly picked up long dirty tweezers from the surgical kit, him watching her like a hawk. He observed her shaky hands, noting the scars around her wrists; she had been bound before, long ago. He was sure she didn't believe what he truthfully said about letting her go unharmed, but was sure she would take any opportunity to get away from him. She didn't seem dangerous; she was really quite pathetic, freezing up and then panicking with fear. He heaved a deep breath, preparing for the pain.

It took time and patience for the woman to carefully extract the darts, having to cut deep in his flesh, push each dart a little deeper to be able to pinch the tiny barbs closed with the tweezers and carefully pull them out. The darts were relatively small but each left an oozing infected hole. The man breathed heavily through gritted teeth, occasionally groaning or hissing in agony. It was no match, though, to the pain of trying to pull and cut a dart out himself. He was impressed that the panick-stricken woman managed to still her hands enough to remove all of them, and he noticed how hard she was trying not to cause him more pain than necessary.

As for her, she was terrified of him thinking she was causing more pain than necessary, knowing it could mean her life if she wasn't careful. She was impressed though that despite his suffering, the man held himself as still as he could for her.

As soon as he felt the last dart removed, the man whipped around and caught her hand holding the scalpel before she could have a chance to hide it or use it against him. Keeping a tight hold of her wrist with one hand, he took the tools away from her, placing them back into the kit and shoving the kit back into his bag. He turned back her, seeing her lip tremble slightly though she was trying hard to be brave.

Haunting flashes appeared before his eyes every time he looked at this young creature. He wasn't sure how old she might be, perhaps just a teenager or maybe a young adult. She noticed he was judging her in some manner, and she noticed how he kept seeing things before his eyes even though she was the only thing in front of him. She definitely believed the "psychotic" part of his tatoo, and feared more than anything that he would put his "intact genitals" to use with her. Why wouldn't he? A mad isolated warrior using who and what he could around him for his needs surely would. Her fists clenched and tears threatened to pool in her eyes. Even wounded, this man could easliy overpower her. But he just stared her for a little while, his deep eyes seemingly undefined by color boring into her brown eyes, once again lifting a finger to slowly touch her face and then softly running it through her curly locks of hair spilling over her shoulder. It was then that she finally figured out what was on his mind; she must in some way resemble someone he knew and loved from long ago, perhaps a wife, a sister, or a course he would have lost people he loved; everyone in the whole dying whole has. But now she knew that her resemblence to this man's lost loved one would keep her safe. She was able to calm down a bit.

He wasn't sure how this girl did it, but he felt like she was seeing his very soul while he tried fruitlessly to look into hers. In a moment she calmed down slightly, as though she finally knew he truly meant her no harm. She tugged her arm slightly, indicating she wanted him to let go of her wrist. He decided that if she was choosing to put a little trust in him, then it would go a long ways to put a little trust in her; he let go of her wrist and she quickly drew it back, holding it close to herself. The man hoped he hadn't broken her thin fragile arm. He wondered how such a small delicate female survived all alone in the wasteland where violent gangs roamed.

"Water," he croaked.

The woman looked off further down the stone passage. He followed her glance, guessing that somewhere among the heaps of boulders there must be a hide-out and possibly a water source. He picked up the woman, hoisting her over his shoulder while she let out a squeak in protest. He gathered his clothes into his bag and set off down the passageway. They reached a dead-end, but he was sure this woman had to have a cleverly hidden entrance to wherever she dwelt. He set her down and was about to question her when her head snapped to attention at a sound coming from nearby. He listened carefully for moment, hearing nothing. He opened his mouth to speak but without looking at him, she instantly clamped a hand over his mouth, her face still turned to the sound of danger, her eyes wide. Then the man heard the sound; motorbikes, several of them, very close, probably exploring the rocky ledges that ran throughout her little frightened little female was panicking again, so he quickly released the rest of her from the net and followed her as she ran behind a boulder and pulled aside a hatch made to look like a boulder and dove in. The man closed it behind them.

The motorbike gang was no doubt the one that had fired the darts at the road warrior days earlier; he knew it and she guessed it. The man waited for the sounds of motors and the shouts of men to dissipate before standing up and exploring the dark cave dwelling. The woman flipped a switch and a dim light filled the chamber. The man was astonished as his eyes adjusted. Somehow this woman had electrical power here; an old rusting chandelier bolted to the rock ceiling in the middle of the chamber cast sufficient light for him to see what other remarkable things she possessed. A work bench had an assortment of equipment, some of them being power tools. A battered dining table held clay bowls and tin cans filled with unknown things he hoped was food. As he made his way over to the table, he continued looking around, seeing her large comfortable bed in a corner surrounded by soft netting. He looked at the woman when he reached the table and drew a bowl near him, "Is this food?" he asked, eagerly looking at the contents; it looked like dried strips of something.

"I just finished making those for my back-up stash," the woman spoke, almost startled by the sound of her own voice, "I have fresh food; it's better."

He looked at her and back to the sustenace, sitting down on the only chair at the table and tried a piece. He recognized it as dried fruit but wasn't sure what kind, not that it mattered. He stuffed more of the sweet strips into his mouth but had great difficulty swallowing even as hungry as he was; he was dehydrated.

"Water," he muttered hoarsely.

He got up and followed the woman as she retrieved a large pitcher from a stone shelf and turned a corner. They entered a dark room and the woman pulled a lever, opening a small hatch high above them, letting in just enough natural light. The chamber was very small but had a large metal basin placed between the boulders. The basin was a mix of car parts and scrap metal welded together to make a comfortable bathtub. Metal pipes ran from a pump to the edge of the basin. The woman apprehensivley handed him the pitcher and began working the pump. Eventually water came out of the pipe and ran into the tub. A clean underground spring, the man thought as he stumbled forward, whipping off the scarf he had wrapped around his head and let the water run over his face while he held his mouth open, gulping down the precious resource.

He drank for a while and relished in the refreshing feeling of cool water running over his sun-cooked head. Finally he had his fill and sat down, leaning his back against the basin. The woman stopped pumping and approached him slowly. She squatted down in front of him and he looked back at her with eyes half-open, tired but unsure of the woman because she had a strange look on her face. She was staring at him just the same way he had stared at her when he had captured her. She held a rag and slowly lifted it towards his face; he normally would feel threatened that she would be willing to touch him, but he allowed it, figuring it wouldn't be a challenge to prevent her from harming him. She wiped his face carefully at first, then a little harder to clean off the dirt and grease. When finished, she frowned and cocked her head. She got up and quickly obtained a pair of scissors, sat in front of him again and lifted the scissors to his face. He grabbed her wrist before she could bring the sharp tool closer, but he couldn't see any ill-intention in her face, only curiosity and determination. He slowly let go of her and glared at her, letting her know that if she tried anything he could break her. She understood but went ahead and carefully clipped away at his beard and hair. As soon as she had finished, she stared at him with disbelief.

"M...Max?"

He was now as surprised as she was, "Who are you?"

But the woman let out an exclaimation of joy and lunged forward, hugging him tightly. This sudden amount of human contact was a bit overwhelming for Max and made him rather uncomfortable. He pulled her off of him,

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The woman, still smiling, replied, "Oh I don't expect you to remember me. But I remember you! You selflessly risked your own life to protect my people from a gang. I was only 8 years old at the time I think."

Max looked at her carefully, not recognizing her, only noticing her cascading brown curls, her brown eyes, and her face; all of these close in appearance to his long-since-past wife.

"Where are your people now?"

"Some are dead, some eventually joined gangs, and I was sold for water."

"And you escaped."

"It's a very long story. It was long ago and more than a lifetime of surviving things has passed between then and now. But I won't bore you with it; you need medicine, food, and rest. Your wounds are infected, so let's get you clean before I fix those up," the woman got up and cranked a different lever making a sound rattle through the various pipes that Max was just noticing. She put a plug in the drain in the tub and turned a valve on a pipe coming from above. Water gushed out of the spout and into the tub. Max wondered what was different about this water compared to what the woman had pumped out of the underground spring. The woman came back to him and tugged on his boots.

"So you know who I am," Max said, "What's your name?"

"Ake," she replied, trying harder to remove a boot.

"If it was so long ago that I helped you, what makes you think that you can still trust me?"

"It took me a while to see you. To really see you," the woman named Ake explained, "But even with everything I can imagine that you have endured, I can still see that you are exactly the same as back then," she grunted, pulling with all her strength on his boot. Finally it popped off, throwing her backwards but she sat back up triumphantly holding Max's obstenent boot, "It's my skill, seeing people. You are one of very few that I have ever trusted. Actually, you are the last now."

"That's foolish. To trust anyone."

"It is! Except when it's you, so long as I am your ally and do not make myself your enemy, I know that" she removed his other boot with much less difficulty, and set the pair aside, "But I owe you my life," She went to a large trunk and gathered some things in her arms.

Max frowned at her. How is it that she can be so sure of herself, of him? He slowly stood up, his tired body protesting the movement. He sat on the edge of the tub and watched the water fill it. The water looked perfectly clean. Dipping a hand in, he discovered that this water coming from above was warm as opposed to the deliciously cold water from below. Ake came up beside him and placed bottles and a scrubbing brush on the edge of the tub. The tub filled quickly and she turned the valve off, motioning for him to finish undressing and get in. She hurried out and came back a short while later with food on a plastic dish. By then Max had resigned himself to the fact that this peculiar female was intent on devoting herself to him right now, so he took the rest of his clothes off and got into the tub. Ake came right up to him unabashedly and placed the round plastic dish of food in front of him on the bathwater where it floated. Then she sat on the edge of the tub and proceeded to pour soap from a bottle onto the scrubbing brush and started to work on Max's back, carefully avoiding the wounds. Max didn't think he liked this; the last time anyone forced him into a bath and washed him was when he was a small child.

"Why are you so tense?" Ake asked, genuinely concerned.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you, I owe you."

"I don't recall anyone owing me a back-scrubbing."

Ake paused, "Your back is badly infected. If you want it to heal, you have to make sure it's clean. You are exhausted; eat up."

Max gave up and let his tired muscles relax in the bathwater. He ate the food quickly, having not tasted such fresh fruits and vegetables in the longest time.

"Where do you get this?" he asked her with a mouthful, while she used a softer rag to gently clean his wounds.

"I grow it all in a hidden greenhouse in a crevice at the top of my little mountain."

"How well-hidden? Suppose the bikers have found it."

"It's impossible to get to unless they come through here," she said and pointed to a dark space behind a boulder, "I built ladders through there to reach the greenhouse. There are no other entrances."

"Where does the water come from?"

"Underground spring. I pump it up to the greenhouse and to a basin where it heats up in the sun and can be let back down here," she explained.

"And the electrical power?"

"Solarpanels, batteries, and back-up generator."

"...Who did this place belong to?" he asked her warily.

She paused again, "Do you think I took this over from someone?"

"You couldn't have done all this yourself."

"As a matter of fact, I did," Ake smiled proudly, "I learned a great deal, as much as I could before making my way here, trying to find someplace to make my own, away from the madness of everyone. My little hill may not be as large and fortified as the other surrounding mountains, but here I discovered a spring. And not being a prime location is also beneficial; no one has any reason to come here..." Ake had finished cleaning his back and knealt down to look Max in the eyes, "Why did you come here?"

"I had reason to believe the gang after me has camps in the larger mountains. I was looking for a place to hide out, figured they wouldn't be here."

"Oh. So somewhat same idea as me. If any gangs have camps out there, they arrived after I did," Ake continued, "That was about 5 years ago. Since then I hauled wrecks back here and built the pump, set up the pipes, built the tub and the greenhouse. I planted seeds I had collected long ago, and when they grew, I traded fresh food for solar panels and guzz. As soon as I became self-sufficiant and gathered up enough supplies to last me a long time, I have never gone back out, never encountered another person. Until today." Ake handed him the scrubbing brush and removed Max's empty dish from the tub. She sat behind him on the edge, scooping up bathwater with a small cup and pouring it over his head. She then poured some soap onto his head and scrubbed at his scalp.

"I don't think I need you to shampoo my hair," Max said, getting annoyed.

She stopped and faced him, "Look at you, Max, don't you feel tired to the point of passing out, especially now that you have a full-stomach?"

He tried to fight it but he was indeed losing a battle against drowsiness. His thoughts went to Ake's very comfortable-looking bed, protected in the cool shade of the cave. As if reading his mind Ake said, "If you are clean enough, I will let you sleep in my bed. So finish washing yourself, and I'll wash your hair so I can patch you up all the sooner, and you can sleep."

Max started to think he just might remember this girl from all those years ago; he did have a memory of a messy haired child treating him like a doting mother would when he spent a couple of days with a small tribe of reasonable traders. That ended with him fighting a vicious gang to protect them while the tribe picked up and fled to find a safer place.

When Ake was finished and Max felt as clean and soft as a new baby, she handed him a large worn towel and told him to lay on the bed so she could mend his back. He had bathed before, been naked before, thouroughly examined by Immortan Joe's doctor Organic, but somehow wearing a towel around his waist, having had all of that dust, grit, and engine grease scrubbed out of every pore on his body left him feeling more exposed, naked, and handled than ever before. He parted the delicate netting and collapsed onto the soft pile of fluffy blankets over an old yet clean mattress. She was right behind him with a tray of medical supplies. Max wanted to keep awake as Ake worked but after she applied a numbing ointment on his wounds and the soreness faded, he instantly drifted into blissful sleep. He didn't stir as Ake cut away dead flesh and stitched the wounds closed. When she finished, she turned him over onto his back so he might not suffrocate in his sleep. She was motherly and paranoid that way. She contemplated sleeping next to him; the bed was big enough for the both of them. But she had not forgotten the occassional flickers of madness in his eyes. Mad or traumatized people have a tendency to wake from nightmares violently. She couldn't be sure if he would immediately be aware of where he was or who Ake was. She pulled blankets and a pillow from the bed, and placing one blanket over him, removing the wet towel, and turning off the light, she then made herself comfortable on a scraped vehicles seat cushions at the opposite end of the room.

"Goodnight, my Max," Ake muttered. She heard a soft snore in response.


	2. Chapter 2

Max woke suddenly from vague nightmares. As he blinked his protesting puffy eyes, all memory of the troublesome dreams slipped away. All was black and quiet, and he couldn't remember where he was. He lay still while he forced himself to full consciousness. He wanted to succumb to his need of sleep but something wasn't right; he was too uncomfortable. He slowly sat up and felt the aching pains on his back. He reached his hands out, sliding them across plush pillows and soft blankets. This was very strange to him. The materials under his fingertips brought back a haunting nostalgia of a world that was still living.

He found the edge of the bed and the soft netting surrounding it. Then he finally remembered where he was. He had found a girl, got her to remove the painful barbs out of his back, and for some reason afterwards she decided to shower him with care and concern. Part of him was grateful, another part of him was paranoid that this would be another one of those situations where something good and innocent, that something being this girl named Ake, would be crushed before his eyes while he couldn't do anything to save it, making another ghost to haunt his already-crowded conscience.

Right now, he couldn't worry about that. Right now, he needed sleep and there was no way he would be able to anymore in the bed; he was too used to sleeping in his car or on hard dirt with a threadbare blanket. But the motorbike gang in the larger mountains had his car and his blanket, as well as the rest of his belongings he had held onto for so long and was overly attached to. The large stone chamber was cool during the day but in the night it had cooled down further. Max pulled a blanket with him from the bed and laid down on the floor on his stomach. He tried to relax and fall back asleep before the dead started getting louder and before the pain from his wounds increased.

Ake woke up with an aweful crick in her neck and shoulder from sleeping in a funny position on the carseat couch. She groaned and stretched, wondering for a split-second why she chose to sleep there instead of in her comfy bed. But it came back to her quickly and her eyes popped open wide. Getting up, she flipped a switch, turning on a nearby lightbulb. Then she could see Max sprawled on the floor next to the bed, snuggled up in a blanket, fast asleep. Ake figured he must have rolled out of bed, but there was no way she would be able lift him back into it, so she let him be and cracked open the hatch so look outside.

It was dawn, the faint light of the purple and yellow horizon gently bathing the rock walls above the entrance to Ake's cavern. She listened with utmost care, hearing only the faint sound of a large dirtdevil swirling across the flat desert to the north. After briefy checking on Max once more, she stepped outside to inspect her mountain. Once she was sure that everyone from the searching gang were camped elsewhere, she went back into the cavern and, pulling a lever, opened a set of shutters on the ceiling, letting the morning light in. She then hurried off to the bath chamber to wash Max's clothes.

The growing light stirred Max from his slumber. He woke up more rested than he could ever remember, even with a terrribly sore back. He sat up and was about to stand before he realized he was naked. He didn't care so much about modesty but more about vulnerbility; he prefered being covered, feeling a sense of security in the same clothes he had worn for years. He couldn't see Ake but he still wrapped the blanket around his waist and headed to the bath chamber.

He entered just as Ake was climbing down the ladders from her hidden gardens. She jumped in surprise when she saw him, but he only stood silently watching her. She held a basket of produce but her start had jossled the basket, making some fruits fall out and roll to Max's feet. He picked one up, turning it over in his hand while trying to remember what kind of fruit it was and what it tasted like.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked, "Thought I left them in here."

"I uh washed them," Ake explained, "I hung them to dry next to the greenhouse. I can repair your jacket too."

"No," he snapped a little more harshly than he meant to. He just didn't like not being in control of what was his, other people handling what he viewed as his most intimate belongings. He sighed,

"You don't have to."

"So? I want to," Ake replied stubbornly.

Max glared at her, "I don't deserve all of this. All I wanted was the hooks out of my back and some water."

"Too bad. Letting me take care of you is the price you pay."

Max frowned.

"Got a toilet among your many clever projects?" he asked.

"Yes, that way."

Max bite into the fruit he was holding and walked around her and through the narrow gap between boulders leading to a tiny chamber where a makeshift toilet was situated. He was surprised to find that the toilet was connected to pressurized plumbing. There was even handmade toilet paper unevenly wound around a stick wedged into a crack in a boulder. He later asked where the plumbing went. She told him how it connected to a septic field of a homestead that used to stand nearby between the mountains.

Ake served up flat bread, jam, and scrambled eggs. Max looked at her incredulously.

"Oh. Yes, I have a few chickens in a pen next to my garden above," she explained.

"Is there nothing you don't have here?"

Ake's face grew sad, "I don't have other people here. No friends. No children. As much I want that, I've never let myself hope," Her face brightened up a bit, "But along comes you of all people. I do not take that for granted."

"I'm not staying," Max warned sternly, expecting Ake to be saddened by this. But instead she said,

"Oh, I know. I know that. Deep down, you are the same as you were when I first met you, and even back then, when you were offered a place among my people, you refused. You are and always be a lone road warrior, like your tatoo says."

Silence set in as Ake picked at the food on her plate and Max slowly finished drinking his cup of water.

"When are you going to leave?" Ake asked.

"Hopefully tonight."

Ake nodded solemnly.

"I have to get my car back," Max continued.

"Where is it?"

"The gang trying to find me has it. I don't know which mountain they're camping at yet, but I'll find it."

"Sounds dangerous."

"Mm," he grunted.

"Wish I could help but I'm not going anywhere near other peoples' camps."

"You've done plenty for me."

"I suppose I'll get your clothes to you as soon as they're dry."

Max shifted uncomfortably in the blanket still wrapped around him. Ake noticed Max's face momentarely scrunch up in pain. "And I should check your back; I have more ointment to help with the pain."

"I'll be fine."

"Wanna know what my people often called me?"

"Was it Motherly?" Max said, "I remember a kid called Motherly."

"You do remember me? Well then, you know how strong my maternal insticts are. I will check your back and I will fix your jacket. I have some leather; I can make a new sleeve for it. It will be something you can remember me by. You will look at your sleeve and think about how you helped preserve a bit of goodness in this broken world."

"Goodness?" he questioned.

"Well, I like to think that despite everything, I'm still a human being with a heart and soul. You can't find that very often anymore. Most people aren't human anymore; they're animals, reduced to the most basic insticts of anything living: survive, no matter the cost." As Ake said this, she wasn't really looking at him but could feel tension rise from him and then sadness. She didn't understand at first but realized she must have struck a cord.

"And what do you think I am?" Max asked her.

She looked him in the eyes and saw them change from sadness to hurt. "I'm sorry, Max. I'm not blaming you for...whatever you've become, whatever you have done to survive. I'm just trying to express my gratitude to you, and maybe you can take some comfort in it."

"I don't want comfort."

Ake heaved a sigh, "Of course you don't. For you to accept comfort would mean accepting your past. The past that you seem to be running from but are still haunted by."

Silence fell between them again. Ake prepared herself for the likely possiblity that Max would get himself killed tonight trying to take back his vehicle from the motorbike gang.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Max glared through a broken set of binoculars at the hills to the west, the setting sun making it difficult to see the horizon. He was trying to concentrate fully on spotting any sign of the motorbike gang, but Ake's painfully true words kept bouncing around in his head. They gnawed at the dark corners of his brain, stirring up the ghosts dwelling there. He was very conflicted; the last little piece of human in him wanted peace and comfort, but his broken soul didn't want the ghosts to dissapate since they were all that was left of the people he had failed. If he let them go, it would be as if they had never existed. All he could do in way of repentence was to hold on to them, to let them exist in some way, in some form.

Max didn't believe he deserved peace, only punishment. He was a cop once, dedicated to serving and protecting people. It was more than just a job; it was who he was. He was ashamed of how far he had fallen. This young woman wanted him to accept some sliver of happiness in knowing he was responsible for her survival. He didn't view it that way. She was resourceful and careful; whose to say she couldn't have made it on her own without his help? Besides, one person saved doesn't balance the scales.

'No one can save everyone,' a soft voice spoke. Startled, Max turned to the apparition. It was Angharad the Splendid. To him, he would always know her as Angharad the Brave. She was the bravest of all Immortan Joe's wives, possibly even braver than Furiosa, though a bit overconfident. But Max knew he was responsible for her death as well; she slipped on the blood running down her leg from the wound where Max had grazed her with a bullet and so she fell from the rig, run over by Immortan's obsene vehicle.

Max huffed and turned his attention back to the west. He spotted movement, a bike or two kicking up dust as it moved out of a canyon and towards a mountain. That was surely where they were all camped.

'As broken as we all are, most of us just want what each idealizes as the right way to live,' Angharad whispered in his ear. He shook his head. He didn't even know what that was supposed to mean.

He shuffled down from his lookout atop a weathered boulder. He looked for Ake inside her stone home. Not finding her, he climbed the rickety ladders to her hidden garden set in the bowl of the hilltop. There she was, sitting on a stone in her small green garden, quietly repairing Max's leather jacket. She merely glanced up at him and went back to work.

Max took the opportunity to explore; the greenhouse was close by. It was made mostly with glass salvaged from vehicles. He opened the small door that was a sideways windshield on hinges, and ducked inside. It was extremely cramped, hot and humid, fat vegetables growing in piles of dirt on the floor, leafy greens growing in wooden crates, and fruits and berries on vines dangling from low-hanging irrigation pipes. Stepping back out, he wiped the thick moisture from his head and examined the chicken pen. It was as large as Ake could make it, even though there were only two chickens who clucked nervously at the sight of a stranger.

"I would have let them have free run of the whole garden except I don't want to risk a hawk or something to carry them off," Ake spoke up. She stood up and held out Max's jacket, "Here you go."

Max barely recognized his jacket. He thought it looked nearly like it did when it was new. Another part of his train of thought knew his younger self would disagree; it still had wear and tear, but Ake had stitched, cleaned, coloured, and oiled the soiled leather. It had it's original black shine and a new sleeve made from car seat leather. Silently, Max donned the jacket almost ceremoniously, running his fingers across it. He looked up at Ake; she gave him a small but warm smile. Max felt so conflicted: he was very attached to his jacket and was respectively thrilled for it to be so wonderfully repaired, extending it's 'life', but having it look so new reminded him of the past and he didn't like that. He wanted to thank her but couldn't open his mouth. He hoped she could understand him through his eyes.  
Ake could see Max's inner struggle, although she didn't quite understand what was going on in his head. She knew at least of part of him was happy to have his jacket repaired and she was satisfied with that.

"I think I know where the gang is," Max stated.

"...I assume you won't be coming back this way once you have your car back?"

Max gave a nod, "There's a chance I could be followed."

Ake nodded knowingly. "Well, let me get you some things."

 **. . . .**

The sun had long-since set and the afterglow disappated almost to nothing. It was a starry night but thankfully moonless. Max kept himself low and moved quickly in the cover of night to the western mountain. It was several miles away and all was quiet, so Max occupied his thoughts with the events over these last few days. It began when he had camped out in the open after having wandered for some miles not finding a more protected spot to spend the night. So of course a scout from the motorbike gang had spotted him early the following morning.

The gang pursued Max until the tank in his car ran out of guzz. They caught up to him quickly, leaving him no time to pull out his gascans and refuel. He had no choice but grab his pack and run on foot over a rocky crest where it was difficult for the motorbikes to traverse. This gained him only a little distance but they took it back when they shot him in the back with hooking-darts and pulled hard on the strong wires. Max was dragged backwards until he was able to reach a tool packet in his pocket, pulling out small wire-cutters. A gang member was almost on him when he finally cut the last tough wire, so he knocked the man down, stole his net that meant to be cast over Max, and ran again. The rocky terrain instantly became a maze of boulders; he was able to hide out of sight as the others kept searching. He then heard the distinct sound of his car's engine approaching.

'So,' he thought, 'They refuelled it and are coming this way.'

He wondered if this might allow him an opportunity to take back his car and escape. But the thieving driver only paused near the rocks, calling out to the others, and drove away in the opposite direction across a flat expanse to deliver the latest spoils to the gang's camp. Max listened and waited for the others; he could hear them systematically searching for him and as they drew closer, his heartbeat rose, his adrenline pumped in his veins, and dead faces flashed before his eyes. They almost chose moments like these to torment him the most, when he was in a dangerous situation, when his senses were most heightened. He sometimes talks to them, feels like telling them to go away or be quieter, (his ghosts were very distracting, sometimes immobilizing) but even though he tries to shake them out of his vision, he doesn't dare order them to stop. 'They are right' he thinks, 'They are all right.'

Angharad is the newest ghost to appear to him, but she only whispers calm benign words. The moment he thought about Angharad again, she was instantly before him, bringing Max out of his thoughts and back to the present where he is attempting to retrieve his car. He was nearly at the base of the gang's mountain, it's dark silhouette almost disappearing into the night sky. Max looked from the mountain to Angharad, waiting for her to utter some bit of nonsense. Instead she silently gazed at him, her skin looking pale sickly blue in the starlight. She then walked away in the direction back to Ake's little mountain. 'You're not going to shoot me.' he heard her voice in his ear as she faded away. Max sighed, turned to continue on his way, and caught a glimmer of firelight high in the rocks.


End file.
